


you're mine (all i can think about)

by twilightstargazer



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Actress Clarke Griffin, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bodyguard, Dirty Talk, F/M, Possessive Behavior
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:08:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24158617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twilightstargazer/pseuds/twilightstargazer
Summary: He hates Hollywood, he hates the blatant favouritism and toxicity, he hates those rich assholes who pretend to sympathise with the working class and sing Imagine from the comfort of their million dollar homes. He hates practically everything the Griffins stand for, with their picture perfect family and mountains of cash and all the charities they endorse just so it will look good on their tax returns.He despises all of it.And then he ended up on their payroll as Clarke Griffin’s fucking bodyguard.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Comments: 68
Kudos: 520
Collections: Chopped: After The Kitchens Close





	you're mine (all i can think about)

**Author's Note:**

> written for the chopped: after the kitchens close challenge. unedited, all mistakes are my own. title from banks' gimme
> 
> Theme: modern au  
> Tropes: bodyguard au, sex in bar/ club, dirty talk, fingering

When it comes to celebrities, the Griffins were practically the royalty of Hollywood. 

Jake and Abby Griffin are both prolific actors with a number of high profile roles under their belts. They come from a line of former Hollywood idols too. His parents were both award winning directors while her mother and grandmother were the silver screen starlets of their times. Combined, they probably have an entire china cabinet dedicated to all of their trophies.

And then there’s the daughter. The youngest Griffin. Clarke.

She’s an actress too, been one since she was in diapers but her roles were always on the big screen or HBO specials. She was too famous for an asinine  _ Disney Channel _ show and her parents made sure she got nothing but the best, earning her very first Oscar nomination just last year, at the age of twenty.

Honestly, Bellamy thought the whole thing was a load of  _ bullshit _ , reeking with the overwhelming stench of nepotism and insider contacts.

He hates Hollywood, he hates the blatant favouritism and toxicity, he hates those rich assholes who pretend to sympathise with the working class and sing  _ Imagine _ from the comfort of their million dollar homes. He hates practically everything the Griffins stand for, with their picture perfect family and mountains of cash and all the charities they endorse just so it will look good on their tax returns.

He despises all of it.

And then he ended up on their payroll as Clarke Griffin’s fucking  _ bodyguard _ .

-

Bellamy got into the security business for two reasons: one, it paid well, and two, he didn’t need a college degree to get into the market.

He first heard about it from his gym teacher, Mr Pike, who was a bodyguard for some ex Disney star who decided to retire a few years back. Mr Pike was one of the few teaches who actually gave a fuck about the students’ home lives and he knew that even with financial aid college would be tight for Bellamy to handle. So he told him about the programme, got him a couple brochures and then snagged a couple meetings with the recruitment heads at Arkadia Security Firm when he expressed legitimate interest in it.

Two weeks after Bellamy graduated high school he showed up to his first ever training session. Six months after that he was certified.

He’s mostly been working low level stuff, a glorified security guard more than anything else. He was a guard for the CEO of some tech startup for about three years before the guy moved to Denmark, and then he got shuffled around to the Hollywood scene, guarding a couple D-list celebs who had a few overly passionate fans that borderline stalked them.

And then he landed Clarke Griffin.

Bellamy thought Roan was teasing him at first when he flung the folder his way.

“What the fuck,” he remembers saying, voice flatter than fucking ironing board.

“They want someone on the younger side, to help her blend in more,” he shrugs, “I recommended you and for some reason they liked you.” He paused to give him a withering stare, “God only knows why.”

“I’m gonna kill you.”

Roan just clapped him on the back. “Save that energy for little Griffin’s fans.”

-

The reason the Griffins were in the market for a new bodyguard for Clarke was because the last one  _ quit _ . 

Apparently Clarke’s a bit of a handful.

Bellamy had his doubts about it at first but, after his first month, he already wants to pull his hair out.

The girl is a straight up  _ menace _ .

She has little to no respect for authority, scoffing and rolling her eyes every time her security detail tells her she can’t do something before going right ahead and doing that exact same thing. She steals bottles of expensive alcohol and gets drunk and then has pictures of it plastered in the papers the next morning. She’s had at least two incidents of her nudes almost leaking because she’d text them to anyone who asked. She almost got busted for having pot in her car and Bellamy had to smooth talk the officer out of pressing charges.

It’s like being a glorified  _ babysitter _ .

But honestly, none of that can compare to her habits of running away, just straight up disappearing for hours without a word.

The first time it happens Bellamy almost has a heart attack, thinking that he’d be fired or probably even  _ killed _ . The Griffins are loaded. He’s pretty sure if any harm were to come to their daughter while she was under his watch, they’d have no problems hiring a hitman to take him out.

She shows back up just over an hour later, when Bellamy’s seriously contemplating calling Raven and asking her to hack her phone, a self satisfied smirk on her face and a hickey under her jaw.

He glares at her.

“Seriously. You ran away to get  _ laid _ ?” he says, disgusted.

She rolls her shoulders back, stretching like a cat in a patch of sunlight. “You should try it sometime, you seem hard up. Maybe your panties won’t be in a bunch as much if someone was giving you a good--”

“Get in the car,” he says gruffly, cutting off the rest of her sentence.

Clarke tries running away at least four more times after that, but by then Bellamy’s caught on to her little game. He manages to stop her every time.

“I can’t believe you,” she grumbles as he manhandles her back to their SUV after a night out at some club. He caught her trying to sneak out through the kitchen with some girl with tattoos and a nose ring who looked at least ten years older than she did. “A girl has needs, you know.”

He gives the driver the all clear to pull off before he regards her, eyebrow raised. “Oh I’m sure you do,” he says, rolling his eyes. “But until you start telling me where you’re going and with whom, then you’re gonna have to handle those needs on your own, princess.”

“Lemme guess, you want me to start scheduling my booty calls at least three business days in advance?”

“Well, it would make my life a hell of a lot easier.”

“Fuck you, Bellamy.”

“Nah.” He flashes a sudden smile at her, teeth glinting in the glow of the passing street lights. “I’m not the one who you wanted to fuck tonight.”

“I hate you.”

“Just doing my job, princess.”

-

She does tell him the details of her next planned hookup though, which surprises him. They’re in New York at some sort of press event to promote her new movie and she tells him in no uncertain terms that she’s going to be spending the night in her costar’s room down the hall when they get back to the hotel.

“Yeah, no, I don’t think so, princess,” he snorts after she’s done delivering the message.

Her jaw drops. “But you said if I tell you beforehand then I could go!”

“I never said that,” he corrects her, easy, flipping a page of his book. “I said it would make my life easier if you did.”

“ _ Bellamy _ .”

“I’m not letting you go to some stranger’s room, Clarke,” he maintains firmly. “If you want it so bad then just bring them back to ours.”

They’re sharing a suite, one that has two separate bedrooms and baths that are further separated from each other by a small living space and kitchenette. Bellamy already did a full sweep of the place when they got here and even installed a few locks on the windows because he does not trust Clarke’s promise not to sneak out.

She lifts a sly brow. “Bring them back here, huh?” she says, leaning in close to him. He can smell her perfume, something expensive and woodsy. “You offering to keep me company during a hookup?”

He flashes her an unimpressed glare. “Cute. I’ll be in my room the whole time. With headphones on.”

She’s undeterred. “I’m just saying, it could be fun,” she hums, twirling a lock of hair around her finger while looking up at him with those big blue eyes. Her bottom lip is caught between her teeth, bruised red, and there’s a sudden, hot flash of interest that flares up inside of him. He immediately squashes it down, the stoic mask on his face never once slipping.

“I’m good, princess.”

“You sure?” Her grin is downright  _ filthy _ . “Gabriel and I have never turned down a third. I’m sure you’re his type too.”

The spine of his book might crack from the force at which he’s holding it, knuckles white. “Positive.”

She turns away from him then, shrugging. “Suit yourself. Don’t say I didn’t offer.”

“Don’t you have anything else to be doing?” he asks through gritted teeth.

“Why, am I bothering you?”

“I’m trying to read,” he tells her, pointedly turning a page although he has no recollection of anything he just read. The words were a haze in his mind.

Clarke glances at the title and then wrinkles her nose. “The Aeneid? Talk about a snoozefest.”

“Good _ bye _ , Clarke.”

She does bring Gabriel over later, and Bellamy barely catches a glimpse of them before he’s turning into his room, locking the door. He has headphones, but they’re not noise cancelling-- a risk he rather not take with the job-- so instead he finds one of his favourite podcasts and turns the volume all the way up, pretending that the muffled moans coming through two sets of walls isn’t doing anything to him.

-

Clarke hooks up with people a lot.

There’s a constant stream of supermodels and actors and boyband wannabes coming in and out of the Griffin household, and each time they leave, she struts around like the cat that got the cream. Which, if he’s being honest, she kinda did.

At least when they’re back in California he doesn’t have to worry about hearing her. She’s safe in the house and he can leave before the noises start and pretend that he’s definitely not turned on by the idea of Clarke getting off.

She always makes it a point to invite him up and each time it’s getting harder and harder to roll his eyes and say a flat ‘no’.She starts flirting with him-- really flirting with him too, all these little suggestive comments-- and he’s pretty sure that he’s gonna lose his fucking mind.

“If you don’t want me running off to find a hookup then maybe you should substitute yourself in?” she says angelically as he drags her back to their car after a night out. “It’s the least you could do for being such a huge cockblock.”

“I will handcuff you to the chair next time you try running off,” he threatens.

Her eyes go dark. “Maybe I’d like that.”

“You wanna come up and eat what my mom made?” she asks when he’s getting ready to leave for the night. Bellamy frowns.

“What did she make?” he asks warily. He’s not sure he’s ever seen Abby in their pristine, state of the art kitchen. He’s not sure she even knows how to turn on the stove.

Clarke just grins toothily at him and says, “Me.”

He chokes on his tongue.

“Your hands are so big,” she says, tracing the tendons of it with her fingers. She looks up at him from beneath her lashes. “You know what they say about guys with big hands”

“All the better to drag your drunk ass home.”

She squeezes his bicep and drops a wink. “Who says I don’t like it a little rough?”

It’s a bit of a problem.

Another problem he has is that for once, Clarke doesn’t have anything lined up this summer, which means she spends her days poolside in what has to be the smallest bikinis known to man. They’re always string bikinis and they always look one size too small for her, her tits practically spilling out of the cups and half of her ass on display.

She makes him help her put on sunscreen, sitting in the splay of his legs as he rubs her back, talking about whatever vapid nonsense is going on in Hollywood this week. This couple broke up, that one is pregnant, that one had twins, this random CW couple got married in secret and when they announced it on Twitter people thought they were hacked. He doesn’t pay attention to her, trying to focus on other things like his old latin teacher or counting backwards from a hundred, to ignore the warmth of her skin under his palms.

One day she sunbathes topless and he’s pretty sure he’s going to need some major dental care from the way he grinds his teeth in an effort to not look at her. 

He doesn’t look though. He’s a fucking  _ saint _ .

After four months of being her bodyguard, his restraint is solid. He’s heard her have sex, put up with her flirty comments, had her gorgeous tits put right in front of him and not looked. Honestly, Bellamy thinks that nothing could phase him at this point. 

And then two days later Spacewalker happens.

Finn Collins is an ex-boyband member turned solo artist turned actor. The band he was in was a preteen sensation but then, at the height of their career, Collins dipped to try and make his mark on his own. 

That endeavor however was a flop.

His debut album barely scraped into the top 100 on the Billboard charts, selling about 17 000 copies totalt. Immediately his PR manager rebranded him into an actor, making him grow his hair out before shoving him in front of the camera for some DCOM.

And now he’s here. By the Griffin’s pool. With Clarke.

“Bellamy!” she yells when she sees him. There’s a flush on her cheeks and she has some sort of tropical drink in hand. Unlike the past few days, she’s wearing a light gauzy sundress today. Her skin is tanned and there are a couple freckles peeking through on her face, distracting.

He looks at his watch. “It’s only ten in the morning, princess, you sure you wanna be drinking right now?”

“We’re having brunch,” she explains, taking another healthy sip of her drink. “Alcohol is socially acceptable in the mornings once it’s for brunch.”

“Uh huh.” He folds his arms. “I still think that you’re an alcoholic.”

Finn pointedly clears his throat and throws an arm around her shoulders. Bellamy has a sudden urge to rip it off.

Clarke on the other hand glows and snuggles into him, throwing him a coy smile. “Finn, this is Bellamy. He’s my bodyguard,” she says, introducing them, “Bellamy, this is Finn. We’re gonna be doing a movie together in the fall.”

“Charming,” he says, flat, and doesn’t even offer him his hand.

“Do you wanna stay for brunch?” asks Clarke before pushing a plate of cut up fruit towards him. “I know your diet is like, protein shakes and kale, but do you want some crepes?”

Before he can respond, Finn nuzzles the side of her head. “Babe, I don’t think your bodyguard wants to spend his morning having brunch with us. He probably has better things to do.”

He doesn’t, but it’s the way that fucking Collins  _ says it _ that makes his jaw clench.

“I’m her bodyguard,” he says slowly as though speaking to a small child. “Being here is what I get paid to do.”

Finn frowns. “We’re on the property. I don’t think anything bad is gonna happen.” He raises a brow, a challenging look on his face, “Unless you’re bad at your job.”

It’s only the prospect of going to jail that stops Bellamy from punching him in his stupid face. He has no doubt in his mind that Finn Collins is the kind of guy who’d press charges against someone merely bumping into him and calling it assault. He’s a douche.

He looks at Clarke, who’s decidedly not looking at either of them, nibbling on a strawberry as she scrolls through her phone.

“You know the rules, princess,” he tells her, shoving his hands in his pockets. “You want me gone, you go in the house.”

Finn leans in, letting his hand dip beneath the hem of her dress. “I can think of some fun things we can do if we go inside,” he murmurs in her ear, but it’s loud enough for Bellamy to hear. He rolls his eyes.

She bites her lip, glancing at Bellamy before she stands up. “Sure. There’s a game room in the basement. You can teach me how to play pool.”

She says it in that flirty voice, the one she uses when she’s trying to get under  _ his _ skin, and something hot and ugly burns in Bellamy’s stomach when it’s directed at Finn instead.

They wander off, leaving him with the spread of half eaten breakfast food by the pool and Bellamy angrily tears into a chocolate croissant, decidedly not thinking about Clarke and Finn and the game of pool that she already knows how to play.

-

Unlike her past hookups, Finn Collins stays a while.

He’s there almost everyday over the next month, sometimes even staying the night when Clarke’s parents are out of town. Bellamy forces himself to stay quiet when Finn wanders into the kitchen on mornings while he’s already there, sipping his coffee.

It’s like he’s glued to Clarke’s hip, watching movies with her, getting lunch together, going for a swim in the pool. The only consolation he has is that Clarke wears these conservative one pieces with him around. Bellamy doesn’t think he’d be able to handle it if she was wearing those bikinis with Finn Collins’ hands on her.

The appearance of Finn also means that he has significantly less time with Clarke. Sure, he’s technically still there the same amount of time, but instead of talking and bickering with her he finds himself lingering in the background like, well, a normal bodyguard.

It leaves a sour taste in his mouth.

Bellamy shows up to work as usual the next day, and the housekeeper informs him that Clarke is still asleep. He checks his watch and scoffs when he sees that it’s already past ten.

He’s reading in the ornate sitting room when she finally wakes up, and he doesn’t notice her until she plops down on the couch next to him, kicking her feet up on the coffee table. She’s still in her pyjamas, a pair of tiny sleep shorts and a camisole, her hair a frizzy mess around her head. One of the straps keeps slipping off her shoulder and he stares at the creamy skin for a beat longer than necessary.

“What’s that?” she asks, craning her neck to squint at the title.

“A book.”

She elbows him in the ribs. “I meant the name of it, you dick.”

“Jude the obscure.”

She quickly googles the title on her phone and then snorts. “Of course you’d read that. God, you’re so emo.”

“It’s good literature, Clarke.”

“I’m Jared, 19,” she deadpans before unfolding her legs and stretching. “You want coffee?”

He shows her his half empty mug and she shrugs, padding to the kitchen, presumably to get breakfast. She comes back with a bowl of cereal and her coffee and slumps down next to him, scrolling through her phone as she eats. When that’s done she announces that she’s going to shower and foregoes the usual follow up question, “Do you want to join me?”

About half an hour later she returns to the sitting room, sketchpad in hand, and this time she sits opposite him, drawing while he reads. They don’t talk but that’s fine. The silence between them is nice.

A bit after one the chef pops in to announce that lunch is ready, and Clarke drags him to the dining room with her. They’re having grilled salmon and wild rice with a side of vegetables, part of Clarke’s carefully planned out diet, and she sighs. She dutifully picks out all of the bell peppers from her dish and slides them onto his plate.

“Where’s Prince Charming?” he asks when the plates are being cleared afterwards. Clarke has a bowl of vegan coconut ice cream in front of her that she’s slowly making her way through.

She shrugs. “Had a guest stint on some crime show. Flew to Atlanta to film it. Why?”

“No reason. Just realised that you’ve been spending an awful lot of time with little old me today,” he says, smirking a little when she huffs.

“I spend time with you,” she says. “Shut up, I do. Finn is just…”

“An ass?” he supplies, and she makes a face, slapping his arm.

“He’s just talkative that’s all. He has a lot to say.”

Honestly, he thought she was going to say something like ‘ _ he’s just my boyfriend _ ’ so when the best thing that she could come up with is  _ talkative _ , well, he lets his mouth curl into a full blown smirks.

She thumps him on the chest this time.

“Shut up.”

“I didn’t even say anything!”

“I want to go for a swim,” she announces, pushing back from the table. “Meet me out by the pool. I’m going to change.”

Fifteen minutes later finds him lying back on one of the lounge chairs, book in hand. He’s glad that he can dress however he wants with Clarke. He can’t imagine being stuck outside in this sort of heat wearing a full suit. He’d probably die.

Clarke shows up a couple minutes later, red string bikini on with some aviators resting on her face. He gives her a pretty blatant once over as she walks towards the pool, noting how her tits jiggle as she walks. She’s left the coverup behind too. There’s far more skin on display here than when she has Finn over.

He can’t help but smirk.

“All that just for me, princess?” he calls out, vaguely aware that this is probably the most provocative comment he’s made to her in the past five months of being her bodyguard.

Clarke’s eyes widens and she actually blushes, two splotches of pink settling on her cheeks and creeping down to her chest, and he lets the statement hang in the air. It’s a universal truth that Clarke is the one who flirts with him, who says the most suggestive things, and Bellamy remains impassive. This is something else entirely.

He keeps the cocky look on his face, staring at her, almost daring her to say something in return.

She doesn’t let him down.

Clarke walks over and perches on the edge of his lounge chair, her ass pressed against his shin. “Nah, this one is for me. When I take it off though, then that’s for you.” She winks.

He gives a throaty chuckle. “You only up for teasing me when your boyfriend’s not here?” he asks, sitting up so that their faces are closer. He has a good view of her breasts from her, the heavy curve of them barely supported by the bright red scrap of fabric.

Her flush deepens. “He’s not my boyfriend,” she mumbles, biting her lip.

He hitches a brow. “Somehow I find that hard to believe. Collins is always all over you whenever he’s around. A bit too, ah,  _ talkative _ , for my tastes. Can’t get a word in.”

She observes him, scrutinising his face for a second before her eyes light up. “Bellamy Blake, are you  _ jealous _ ?”

Maybe.

“No.” He shakes his head. “What do I have to be jealous of, princess?”

“My relationship with Finn,” she shrugs, the  _ duh _ evident in her voice.

“You said it yourself, it’s not a relationship. He’s not your boyfriend.”

“He kisses me,” she taunts him, shuffling closer, a hand on his knee. “Touches me too. Sometimes we have sex.”

Bellamy grins meanly at her. Normally those words would be the flame for the kindling of anger inside him, but this time, they fan a different flame, something hotter, deeper. “Sounds like you want me to be jealous.”

“Well, why aren’t you?”

He tugs her hand abruptly, and she squawks as the motion causes her to pitch forward, landing against his chest.

Bellamy holds her there, letting his hand slowly caress the expanse of her back. He knows it well by now, the smoothness of her skin, the cluster of freckles on her right shoulder, the softness that seems to cocoon her. His fingers toy with straps of her bikini, the only thing holding it together right now, seeming rather flimsy at the moment.

There’s a sudden intake of breath and he can feel the way he nipples tighten through the thin fabric.

“Why should I be jealous,” he rumbles, resting his forehead against hers and watching the way her pupils threaten to engulf her irises whole, “When you’re here with me, looking like this, something you never do for him.”

Bellamy grasps on the strings and tugs them free.

-

Finn comes back two weeks later.

Two weeks of Clarke dragging him out to the pool in her skimpiest bikinis. Two weeks of Clarke lounging around the house in boy shorts and thin tank tops, not a bra in sight. Two weeks of him and Clarke  _ flirting _ , murmuring all sorts of dirty things to each other but refusing to act on it. 

He dreams of her.

She’s always in his dreams if he's being honest, but now he doesn’t feel guilty when he dreams about pushing her down on the bed and devouring that pretty little pussy of hers. Doesn’t feel guilty when he wakes up in the morning, hard, and wrings one out with the thought of her breasts in his hands, the sounds she would make if he sucked on them.

The day that Finn comes back, she’s in the sitting room wearing another one of her pretty sundresses. It’s light blue with a couple large pleats in the skirt, hitting her a couple inches above the knee and with a conservative neckline. She’s brushed her hair, pulling it back into a neat ponytail at the base of her head.

Bellamy smirks at her.

“Why do I have to be jealous again?” he whispers in her ear as he walks past her, taking his position against the back wall just before Finn comes through the door.

The look Clarke tosses him is mean, and then she’s crossing the floor and wrapping her not-a-boyfriend up in a hug before smacking a kiss to his mouth.

Bellamy clenches his jaw and looks away.

Finn sticks around for the next couple of days, always touching Clarke, whether it be an arm around her shoulders, a hand on the small of her back, fingers trailing up her leg. She seems to encourage it almost, always making sure Bellamy had a prime position to watch.

“You know you can do better than him, right?” he says one night after Finn left, supposedly called away on business.

She lifts a brow. “Thought you weren’t jealous?” she says in a sing-song voice. He bats it aside, annoyed.

“I’m just saying that you can. He broke up with his ex just a few days before their wedding last year. He’s a mediocre actor at best, and his songs are definitely biphobic,” Bellamy presses on, ignoring her knowing look.

“Have you been googling him?” she asks, a hint of mirth in her tone.

He’s been reading his Wikipedia page the night before. On incognito mode. So no one would ever know.

He doesn’t tell her that though.

“I’m just looking out for you.”

Clarke laughs. He pouts.

“Well it sounds a lot like you’re jealous,” she tells him, letting her hair out of the braid that it’s been in all day.

“I’m not going to get jealous over someone like  _ Finn Collins _ ,” he sneers, and she pats his chest, comfortingly.

“Whatever you say, buddy.”

-

The Friday after Finn returns, he decides that they should go to a nightclub.

_ Nightblood _ is one of the more elite clubs in Hollywood, so Bellamy feels slightly better about agreeing to go to it. It’s elite enough that he doesn’t think he needs their whole security detail tonight, just their driver. Plus when the club managers heard that a  _ Griffin _ had shown up, they immediately offered them a spot in the VIP area.

They’re with Finn’s entourage, a group of people that Bellamy doesn’t know all that well but Clarke assures him that it’s fine. They’re all mostly struggling actors, trying to get a job, and she knows that if anything were to happen, one word from her would nix the chances of them ever creating a career.

She says it with a humourless smile and suddenly it makes sense why she doesn’t have a ton of friends.

The group immediately heads to the bar when they get in but Clarke lingers, watching him.

He watches her back, taking in her clubwear, a bustier crop top that looks like a glorified bra more than anything else with a short leather skirt and matching jacket thrown over her shoulders. Her makeup is light, other than a bold red lip that doesn’t budge when she bites on it. She notices and flashes him a coy smile.

“Like my outfit?”

“You look like you’re going to get cold,” he says blandly.

“Guess you’re just gonna have to warm me up,” she muses before a hand winds itself around her waist and tugs her close.

Finn drops a kiss to her head. “I got you a drink,” he says, passing over a glass of something clear. A gin and tonic from the looks of it, and Clarke does her best to conceal her look of disgust. She hates gin.

Bellamy lets the corner of his mouth quirk up. She inconspicuously flips him off.

Finn notices their wordless communication and he frowns, tightening his hold on Clarke. It makes him want to laugh. Oh how it must feel to always have a perpetual third wheel when you go on dates with your girl. Although, judging from the looks of things, Finn might be the third wheel in his own relationship.

“You want something to drink?” she asks after a moment of awkward silence.

Bellamy shakes his head. “Working remember?”

“Shouldn’t you get to that then?” Finn says, a little snidely, “You know, over there.” He nods towards the wall furthest from them.

Clarke steps on his foot with her heel. “Finn,” she hisses.

“Nah, he’s right. I should be working. Over there.” He doesn’t mean for it to sound mocking but judging from Finn’s glare, he doesn’t care what he means. Whatever, he ignores washed up boy band wannabe and fixes Clarke with a stern glare. “Don’t get too drunk.”

“Yes  _ dad _ ,” she rolls her eyes.

Bellamy never really understood the appeal of clubbing. Too loud music, sweaty people you don’t know standing next to you, overly expensive drinks. He never really did it himself, but he had clients who liked to party, and Clarke is one of them. More often than not he had to drag her home at three in the morning, almost passed out drunk.

He watches Clarke for most of the night and yeah, while that’s his  _ job _ , he also finds himself watching her for non job related purposes too. The sway of her hips as she moves off tempo to the beat, the curve of her neck when she takes a shot, the cute wrinkle of her nose after she bites down on a wedge of lime. She’s cute.

She spots him looking at her a few hours in, and she drags her finger through the sugar that’s stuck to the rim of her glass before innocently plopping it in her mouth, sucking on the tip.

Forget everything he said about being cute. She’s a goddamn  _ demon _ .

It’s less cute the way Finn comes up behind her and starts grinding against her, his hands low on her hips, face in her hair. Clarke is still staring at Bellamy and when she gets that wicked look in her eye, he can’t find it in himself to look away.

She dances back on him, a sinfully slow twist of her hips, and grips his hair, pulling him down so that he begins to mouth his way down the column of her neck. Finn goes all too willingly, drunk, sloppy. His fingers move to the hem of her skirt and dip under, palm trailing up the inside of her thigh.

When he latches on to a spot beneath her ear, Clarke holds his gaze and moans, too low to be heard over the thump of the bass that’s vibrating the walls, but he knows it. Can see it in the way her lips curve.

His carefully maintained composure finally cracks and he lets her see the dark look on his face.

Victory flashes across Clarke’s face and she throws her head back, moving in time with the music.

After what feels like an eternity but must have been ten minutes at the very most, Clarke steps away from her partner and murmurs something that he can’t hear from his spot on the other side of the dance floor. It’s okay though, because as soon as she turns away she finds his eyes on her and gives him this  _ look _ before sauntering off the dancefloor and towards the narrow hallway that leads to the bathroom.

Bellamy counts to one hundred in his head before he follows her, silently slinking along the perimeter, practically blending into the shadows.

The VIP lounge has its own set of washrooms tucked away at the end of a very long, narrow corridor, and he makes sure to glance around before ducking into the ladies’ room. He holds a breath, praying that it’s empty.

Thankfully, it is, and he sighs in relief when he notices that the only one in here besides himself is Clarke, washing her hands and neck in by the sink.

She smirks at him in the mirror and that dark longing slips back onto his face.

He crosses the room in three long strides and crowds her up against the vanity, hearing her sharp gasp as his body presses against her.

His grip on her hips is mean, hard enough that it could probably leave bruises there in the morning. He wants to leave bruises on her, wants Finn to see them and wonder who put it there.

“You’re a goddamn tease, princess,” he growls against her temple. There’s a breathy moan from her and her ass pops out, just a little, rubbing over his half hard cock.

“Does this mean I win?” she asks, a dangerous smile on her face. “Does this mean you’re finally going to admit that you’re jealous?”

He trails his mouth from her temple, across the curve of her cheekbone, lips lingering at the corner of her mouth. He can feel her breath ghost across them.

“Let’s get one thing straight,” he rumbles, low in his chest, “There’s nothing about  _ Spacewalker _ that could make me jealous. He’s insignificant.”

“Then why are you here,” she challenges, meeting his heated gaze in the mirror with her own.

He drops one of his hands from her hips, letting it trace the curve of her ass, before it finds the hem of her skirt. Ever so slowly, he begins to push it up, trailing his hands along the insides of her thighs.

“I’m here to remind you just how  _ insignificant _ he is,” he breathes into her ear, feeling the way she shivers at his words. Her skirt is bunched up around her hips, exposing the dark lace of her panties.

A hand finds its way at the junction between her legs and slowly, he slides his finger against her slit, through the rough fabric of her underwear. She’s already wet.

“I’m here to remind you,” he continues, working her up until her breath is coming in short gasps. Her hands are clenched into fists on the countertop in front of them. “That  _ this _ ,” he grinds his thumb hard on her clit and she moans, “Is all  _ mine _ .”

A rogue grin finds its way on his face and he carries on, stroking her through her panties. “Isn’t that right, princess?” he asks, oh so innocently, and she jods, a jerky, rapid movement of her head.

“Yes,” she pants, gripping the edge of the vanity for support. “Yes, it’s just yours, Bellamy.”

He lazily circles her clit with his fingers. “Finn can’t make you feel like this,” he says, mumbling it into her neck, “Finn doesn’t make you  _ soak _ through your panties like a naughty little girl.”

“N-no,” she stutters, jerking back when he shifts to let her feel how hard he is, all pressed up against her ass. “No, he doesn’t. Only you do.”

Her legs tremble when he rubs her clit again, still not touching her bare skin, drawing it out, teasing her. “Look at you, I’ve barely even touched you and you’re so wet,” he coos, the hand that isn’t currently teasing her sliding up her front to roughly paw at her tits. “You planned this for a while, didn’t you princess.”

She doesn’t reply, undulating her hips as she chases that glorious friction that would bring her over the edge.

Bellamy removes his hand and she whines.

“I asked you a question, Clarke,” he murmurs, taking in her flushed skin and the frantic, wanting look in her eyes.

“I-- I wanted you. I wanted you to fuck me,” she manages to say, breathless. “Thought this could maybe speed up the process.”

He chuckles darkly. “You’re a mean one, aren’t you? Didn’t you care about that boy’s feelings?”

“ _ Fuck _ his feelings,” she snarls, grabbing his hand and trying to get it back between her legs. Bellamy is far stronger than her though, and he lets her struggle for a moment.

“You thought you could make me jealous with someone like that, baby? You thought if I saw you with another man, I’d fuck you and make sure the world knew?” He breathes in her scent, perfume and alcohol and the headiness of sex. “You that desperate for my cock, Clarke?”

Her head lolls back when the hand at her breast dips into her bustier to roll a nipple.

“God,  _ yes _ . Yes I wanted to fuck you. Please Bellamy,” she whines, bucking her hips back against his erection.

He brushes a kiss on her exposed shoulder. “I don’t need to fuck you for everyone to know that you’re mine, Clarke,” he tells her, low and sure of himself. His fingers go back to her panties and this time he nudges them out of the way. “Everyone is gonna know that you're mine because after I’m done with you, you’re never gonna look at another person again.”

He plunges two fingers deep inside her, not giving any time to respond, not even giving her a warning for what was to come. Clarke groans, loud and long, and her head drops back to his shoulder.

Her cunt is so wet and tight around them that even he groans at the sensation, placing another kiss against her temple.

Bellamy sets a gruelling pace, a slow in-out of his fingers as he kisses up the exposed column of her neck. When he gets to that spot beneath her ear, the same one that just a couple minutes ago Finn had his mouth on, he sucks hard, letting his teeth scrape over it and she gasps out his name. He can feel the clench of her cunt on his fingers, that sweet ache inside of her just  _ building _ .

When he pulls back, there’s a bright red bruise under her ear and it’s sure to darken in the hours to come. He catches her eyes in the mirror and, if it’s even possible, slows the pace of his fingers even more until she groans.

“In the morning when you see that spot, I want you to think of this,” he tells her. “I want you to think of my fingers in your cunt, of me pushing you against the sink, the way it’s  _ my _ name you’re moaning right now.”

He crooks his fingers just so, finding that sweet spot inside of her that makes her see stars. The hand on her breast travels back to her hip, gripping it tight and stopping her from rocking against his hand, taking more than he allowed.

“When Finn sees that and thinks it was his doing, I want you to think of this,” he purrs, “I want you to think of  _ me _ .”

He fucks into her harder. “You’re never going to think about anyone else again, got it, princess?”

“Yes,” she sobs, her entire body trembling as she aches for release. “No one but you. There’ll never be anyone but you, Bellamy.”

He lets her have a third and she keens at the sudden fullness. “And why’s that, babe?” he goads her.

“Because I’m  _ yours _ .” Her breath hitches and she rocks her hips down on his hand, despite the tight grip he has on her. It allows her clit to grin on the palm of his hand, a filthy, slick move that leaves her gasping.

Bellamy kisses the side of her neck, feeling the way her pulse is racing under his lips.

She looks so pretty in the mirror, her skin flushed pink, eyes screwed shut, the way her hair was starting to stick to her temples, looking like molten gold.

“Doesn’t that feel good, princess,” he says, letting his fingers drag inside her so her next gasp is a cross between a hiccup and a sob. “Don’t you like how my fingers feel inside you? You look so hot like this.”

“Bet I would look better if it was you cock instead,” she breathes, rocking her hips in time with the thrusts of his fingers, giving her clit the attention it needs. She grinds back against him, and he inhales sharply, savouring the feel of her rubbing up on his dick.

“You’d like that, won’t you,” he chuckles, “For me to bend you over this counter and rip those little panties off and fuck you.” He changes the position of his wrist so his fingers hit that spot inside her again and again, moving with purpose now. He’s not sure how long they’ve been gone, but he knows that if they’re away for too long, people will start to notice.

He wants people to notice.

He wants  _ Finn _ to notice.

“I’d make you feel real good-- even better than how you feel right now-- and then, when you come, I’ll send you right back outside, no panties, cunt still dripping for me, and you can make small talk with lover boy,” he promises, fucking her faster with his fingers. He gives a throaty laugh. “Maybe he’d think that was all him. But you’d know the truth, won’t you, princess?”

“Yes,” she mumbles, eyes closed, a little furrow making itself known between her brows.

He grabs her jaw, wrenching her head roughly to the side so that their lips are mere millimeters apart.

“You gonna tell him that all this,” he gathers her slick and rubs it around her clit, “Is for me? You gonna tell him who made this little pussy feel good?”

“ _ Yes _ , Bellamy, fuck,” she cries when he presses down on her clit again.

“That’s right, princess. It’s  _ mine _ .”

He kisses her, sloppy, and a little bit mean too. It’s more tooth than lip, more spit than tongue, but she still moans into it. She tastes bitter, like alcohol, but there’s the undercurrent of something sweet too, something that’s just so  _ Clarke _ .

She’s getting all tight and sweet around him, just needing one last thing to get her there. The hand that’s cradling her jaw quietly slips down her neck, and her breath catches.

Their eyes meet in the mirror and he can see the lust burning in them, the want, the  _ need _ . Her eyes flick to the hand he has on her throat and then back up to him, and Bellamy gives her an indecent smirk.

His hand tightens, just a little bit around her neck, enough to just begin to cut off her blood flow, and her cunt contracts around his fingers.

Her entire body shudders and her mouth hangs open in a silent scream. He fucks her through her orgasm, feeling the feeble fluttering of her cunt as she comes down.

“Look at you,” he says, shallowly thrusting his fingers into her heat. “Gorgeous.”

He only stops when she makes a contented sound and limply pushes at his wrist. “So fucking pretty, Clarke,” he tells her, squeezing her hip.

She shivers when he pulls his fingers out and her eyes go dark as she watches him suck on them.

The taste of her is just as sweet as he imagined, tangy and little metallic. Intoxicating. He can’t wait to get it straight from the source next time.

Clarke turns her head towards him, searching, and he gives her what she wants, a kiss. It’s fairly chaste, closed mouthed and mostly dry, but then she makes a soft mewling sound, begging, and he gives her the tip of his tongue to suck on, letting her chase the taste of herself.

“Do you want me to…?” her hand trails toward the fly of his jeans, toying with the button and he pulls back, putting some space between them.

He’s painfully hard and there’s nothing he rather do than let her get down on her knees and suck him off, but--

“Finn is probably wondering where you’re gone off to,” he grits out, gently pushing her hand away from his jeans.

She cocks a brow. “What happened to wanting him to know that I’m yours?” she says, her cheeks flushing as she says the words.

Bellamy chuckles darkly. “Oh princess,” he says, wrapping his fingers around her dainty little wrist. “He will.”

He starts tugging her towards the door and she stumbles forward, trying to keep up with him.

“Wait, I need to clean up,” she says, a bit embarrassed and he flashes her a smile.

“Do you?” He tilts his head to the side and looks at her. “I think you look fine.”

She looks well fucked, a pleasant, satisfied look on her face, a gorgeous flush staining her skin pink, hair frizzy around her head, some tendrils sticking to her face. He bets she can feel her arousal between her legs still, sticky and wet, and his smile only grows bigger.

“I think Finn would quite like the sight of you like this,” he tells her, holding the door open for her. She flashes him a disdainful glare as she brushes past him, and he gropes her ass one last time, making her squeak.

“He’s going to know something happened.”

“Only if you let him.” He shrugs. “You’re an actress, princess. Suffice to say, I think that means you have a pretty damn good poker face.”

The sound of music gets louder as they walk back up the hallway. Clarke stops them midway and faces him, crossing her arms over her chest.

“He’s going to know,” she says again, looking at him with an unreadable expression on her face.

Bellamy jams his hands into his pockets and rocks forwards on the balls of his feet.

“One of two things is going to happen tonight, princess,” he says, looking at her intently, “Either you go home with him, let him see the mess you made in your panties and pretend that that’s all for him or,” he traces the line of her check, down the length of her neck and then curls his hand around it, making her breath catch. “Or you come back home with  _ me _ . Your choice.”

He drops his hand and walks off, leaving Clarke alone in the hallway as he resumes his post against the wall. 

She walks out a couple moments later, decidedly not looking at him, and makes a beeline towards Finn. He can’t hear what’s being said and Clarke has positioned them in such a way that he can’t see either. All he’s able to make out is the disgruntled slash of his mouth and Clarke’s face when she turns back around and catches his eye.

Bellamy quirks an eyebrow, smirking at her, and makes sure that she’s still watching him as he brings his hand up to his face, fingers curling around his own jaw. His thumb-- the same thumb he used to grind against her clit just moments before-- brushes the curve of his lip before he takes the tip into his mouth. He gently bites down on it.

Across the room, Clarke’s eyes flash and she licks her own lips.

She starts to walk towards him, a hard expression on her face, and he lets the full length of the smirk unfurl across his face.

“I’m ready to go,” she tells him brusquely, tucking her clutch under her arm. “Tell my driver to come around the front.”

He ducks his head. “Of course, miss Griffin,” he says, and then leads her out with his hand just grazing the small of her back.

Clarke shivers at the contact and looks back at him, bottom lip drawn between her teeth and longing in her eyes. He just continues to smirk.

This is going to be fun.


End file.
